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The driver popped the clutch, and the Citroën lunged.
Backward.
With equal parts bewilderment and disbelief, Rapp tracked the car as it reversed out of the courtyard, executed a precise J-turn, and sped away in a cloud of exhaust.
Rapp shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.
The driver’s actions made no sense. The man had had him dead to rights. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to cause a scene by running over a pedestrian in broad daylight, but Rapp had been at this game long enough to know that displaying mercy on the battlefield was a recipe for disaster. An enemy permitted to live today too often translated in an enemy that would have to be faced tomorrow, often on less favorable terms.
Thoughts about the Citroën’s driver brought with them somethingelse: a revelation fluttering at the edge of his consciousness. The man’s startled expression was important somehow. Rapp thought he could decipher the expression’s significance if he just pushed a bit harder, but another matter demanded his attention.
A motor scooter.
CHAPTER 5
DAUGAVPILS, LATVIA
SAYthat again,” Joe said.
“A bomb. There’s a freaking bomb in the stall of the men’s bathroom.”
Joe stopped himself from asking the obvious question—Are you sure? Before coming to the Unit, David had been part of a team that manned listening stations designed to scoop up RF energy transmitted by foreign adversaries. These stations were often situated on remote hillsides and mountaintops, meaning the men and women who lived there had to be able to repair the sensitive radio equipment if it malfunctioned.
David knew the difference between a bomb and a bundle of wires.
“Could you tell what kind?”
David shook his head. “I don’t know shit about bombs, but it looked straight out of central casting. A bunch of nails wrapped around a couple of sticks of dynamite and a glass bottle full of liquid. Maybe gasoline.”
Perfect.
Just perfect.
The prudent course of action would be to get the hell out of Dodge,but even if they could convince the patrons to leave with them, there would be questions after the device exploded. Questions asked by trained professionals, who were suspicious by nature. He and David were traveling as tourists on Canadian passports. Joe was confident that their legend would stand up to the coming scrutiny, but he was less sure about their ability to withstand sustained questioning by Latvian or Soviet counterintelligence officers. Members of the Unit often traveled surreptitiously, but they were not CIA officers trained for deep-cover operations.
Joe needed to resolve this situation in a way that didn’t lead to an interaction with the police, but neither could he walk out of the bar and hope for the best. Latvia wasn’t an ally at the moment, but neither were the Latvian people enemies. Joe didn’t pretend to be a geopolitical analyst, but it didn’t take a genius to see that the tiny country’s populace yearned to be free of Russian oppression. Joe couldn’t stand by and allow innocent people to perish in the name of operational security.
Which left just one option.
“Let’s take a look,” Joe said.
“Thought you’d never ask,” David muttered, but the thespian headed for the bathroom all the same.
The bartender fired a burst of Russian at Joe as he followed David’s lead. The man’s accent was too thick and his diction too quick for him to understand what he’d said, but based on the laughter that echoed from the other patrons, Joe could make a guess.
Nothing like being the butt of a joke from the very people you were trying to save.
Joe quickened his stride and entered the bathroom on David’s heels. Closing the door behind him, he threw the bolt home on the simple latch screwed into the wood and then turned to see what awaited. David had already opened the cabinet above the toilet. “I was looking for toilet paper and found this.”
Thiswas a package of wires and dynamite about the size of a child’s lunch box.
Joe leaned closer, careful to keep his hands at his sides. Only now did the enormity of the situation fully register. He knew as much about bombs as he did calculus, which was to say not a whole hell of a lot. He supposed he’d been hoping to see something that looked familiar from the movies. Perhaps a bright red LED with numbers steadily counting downward or maybe even an old-school alarm clock connected to a pair of red and black wires. Instead Joe was confronted with five sticks of dynamite, a bundle of wicked-looking roofer’s nails, and a brown glass bottle filled with an ominous liquid.
Not great.
“Now what?” David said.
“I’m thinking,” Joe said.
